The engine roars to life as Marcus executes a precise three-point turn. I keep two fingers pressed to Eve’s neck, counting each weak pulse. Her dark lashes flutter against pale cheeks, lips moving in silent words I can’t decipher.
“Vital signs?” Marcus catches my eye in the rearview mirror.
“Weak but steady.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears. “Push it faster.”
Liv stirs, a small sound escaping her throat. My hand tightens around her shoulder instinctively before I can stop myself.Get it together, Harding.
“Roberto…” The name slips from her blue-tinged lips.
“Don’t try to talk.” The command comes out sharper than intended.
Sirens fade behind us as Marcus weaves through side streets. Red and blue lights paint the wet pavement, each flash a reminder of the chaos we’re leaving behind. Roberto’s body. The disabled cameras. The professional execution screams of Ano’s methods.
Eve’s head shifts in my lap, eyes cracking open briefly. The confusion in her gaze hits me harder than it should.
“Hospital?” Marcus asks, taking a corner too fast.
I watch Eve’s eyes drift closed again, my jaw clenching. “No. Too exposed. Take us home. Have my doctor meet us there.”
Home.The word echoes strangely. When did my penthouse become “home” in relation to her?
Liv mumbles something incomprehensible, her fingers weakly grasping at my shirt. The gesture sets off an unfamiliar ache in my chest that I refuse to examine too closely.
Protecting her wasn’t supposed to feel like this.The thought ambushes me as I brush frost from her hair. This was meant to be strategic. Professional. Instead, I’m sitting here with my pulse racing every time her breathing hitches.
“Take a few detours,” I tell Marcus, needing to focus on something concrete. “We need to—”
Eve’s eyes flutter open again, meeting mine for a brief moment. The look cuts through every defense I’ve built, and I realize with stark clarity that I’m already in too deep.
This isn’t just business anymore.The admission terrifies me more than any cleaner’s bullet could.
Chapter 12
Consciousness returns like a tide of broken glass, each sensation cutting through the fog. Silk sheets whisper against my skin. Something cold and hard bites into my right wrist. My head pounds with each heartbeat, and my thoughts are scattered.
I force my eyes open. The room swims into focus—all clean lines and understated luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Chicago’s nightscape, city lights blurring as I blink away drug-induced haze. This isn’t my room in Remy’s penthouse. This is somewhere else. Somewhere expensive.
I try to lift my hand to touch my throbbing forehead, but metal bites into my wrist. The sharp clarity of panic cuts through the haze. I’m handcuffed to an ornate headboard. Professional grade, not the cheap stuff from novelty shops. My left arm is free, but it might as well be made of lead.
The memories hit like snapshots: The desperate meeting at Mighty Dragon. Roberto’s face, tight with fear. Gunfire. Thewalk-in freezer’s metal walls closing in. Remy’s voice, the last thing I heard before darkness took me. Was it even real?
Roberto. God, Roberto. Is he dead? Alive? The not-knowing claws at my chest.
My father’s contract pounds through my head like a twisted mantra. Twenty million dollars. That’s what Ano thinks my life is worth. Twenty million reasons for anyone—even Remy—to put a bullet in my head.
I try to sit up, but the room spins. My tongue feels thick, and my mouth is as dry as sand. Even my teeth hurt.
My clothes have been changed—I’m wearing silk pajamas that probably cost more than my monthly rent. The violation of that makes my skin crawl, but I force the feeling down. Focus. Think.
Where am I? Still in Chicago, judging by the skyline, but this could be any luxury high-rise in the city. The room is massive, minimalist, and masculine in design. Dark woods, cream walls, abstract art that probably costs more than most cars.
My brain feels wrapped in cotton, but one thought cuts through with crystal clarity: I’m completely at someone’s mercy. And in my world, mercy comes with a price tag—twenty million of them.
The door opens with a soft click that might as well be a gunshot. My breath catches as Remy fills the doorway, his presence electric. Of course it would be him. The twenty million bounty must have been too tempting to resist.
He’s wearing one of his perfect black suits, the kind that costs more than most people make in months. His tie is loosened just enough to make my mind wander to dangerous places. To memories of my fingers wrapped around silk, pulling him closer. I force those thoughts away.
“You look definitely better. Comfortable?” His voice carries that familiar edge of dark honey and steel.
